


Empire without End

by greenflower21



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Mythology, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Original, Ancient History, Ancient Rome, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fictional Religion & Theology, Folklore, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Levi Ackerman & Mikasa Ackerman Are Related, Magic, Original Mythology, Original Universe, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Erwin Smith, Pagan Gods, Prophecy, References to Ancient Roman Religion & Lore, Roman Britain, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:54:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29569212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenflower21/pseuds/greenflower21
Summary: Erwin Smith is a military commander in the Mitrian empire, ruled by the corrupt emperor Fritz and controlled by the cult of priests worshipping the war god Zekus. Erwin is ordered to travel beyond the walls to the west of the empire and conquer the wilderness that lies beyond. When he meets a group of seers who can use magic and speak prophecies, led by a man called Levi, he must question his entire worldview, and whether or not the idea of an "empire without end" can be justified.
Relationships: Levi Ackerman/Erwin Smith
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work set in an original fantasy world that I created. It is heavily inspired by Greek and Roman mythology, and Roman history (and Virgil's Aeneid). The aesthetic can be seen as sort of late-Roman empire-ish. The gods and the settings are my own creation, however I have given them names that are compliant with the AOT universe because this is a fan-fiction after all...
> 
> *Disclaimer: I do not own Attack on Titan or any of the characters. Names of characters and places belong to the creators of Attack on Titan. This was composed as a world-building exercise and not-for profit. 
> 
> I think this goes without saying, but my fantasy world is very precious to me and I'm a very paranoid person so please don't steal it!

**Chapter 1: Erwin**

Despite the hot sun reflecting off the sea onto the white marble walls of the palace outside, the arched hallways were cool and dark inside, the noise of gulls and merchants calling their wares in ninety-five different languages muffled by the thick stone walls. A tall man clad in the deep blue cape of a soldier plodded down the stone hallway, his footfalls heavy and deliberate, steady but still echoing with a careful urgency that was undisguised with his stony, expressionless face, icy blue eyes shielded by the marble shadows.

He stopped before a tall set of heavy wooden doors, painted with overlapping friezes of ancient battles and conquered gods, with other more powerful gods looking down, triumphant. A guard stood on either side, wearing blue feathered helmets, with the same, deep blue capes that were far too impractical for movement, trailing ceremoniously down their stiff backs.

The man who stood before them saluted, a fist to his chest, and he announced in a deep controlled voice, “Commander Erwin Smith, reporting to Emperor Fritz as summoned.”

The guards nodded in unison and pushed open the heavy doors. Erwin nodded his head once in thanks, then strode into the room, sword clinking against his belt with each heavy, deliberate step forward, shadow training behind him on the cold stone floor.

When he reached the end of the hall, he knelt before a white marble throne. Its outside was decorated with more forgotten battles and dying creatures. Erwin’s eye caught on one, a large feathered beast with a sword protruding from its chest, ancient stone eyes empty of the anguish that should have been there, and the owner of the sword stood atop its conquered body in triumph.

To the left of the throne, partly in the shadows stood a black-robed figure with a hood that obscured his face. Erwin recognized him as one of the priests of Zekus, the war god of Mitras, and a constant voice in the emperor’s ear. 

The figure in the throne itself gazed around the room with a bored expression, clad in robes of crystal white, hemmed with golden thread. A red cloth made of heavy fabric was draped over one shoulder in a fashion that only the most important elites of the city were privileged enough to wear.

“Emperor, commander Erwin Smith reporting before you. I am here to answer your summons,” Erwin kept his voice cool and steady. The emperor may have been apathetic, but the priest was definitely watching and listening to the soldier’s every breath from the vantage point under his hood.

The emperor did not turn his head, nor did he give Erwin any signal to stand. The stone floor was cold, and Erwin could feel his hips stiffening with every long moment he knelt there, the priest’s hidden eyes staring daggers at him.

After far too long of a pause, the emperor spoke. “Have you ever gone west, commander?”

Erwin’s eyebrows bristled slightly in surprise. “No sire, never farther than the wall…” The western part of the empire was wild and unexplored. There were some farms west of the city, and many trade routes that stretched along the sea road to the south, with a scattering of farmland there as well, but most of the empire’s grain was imported from Marlos across the sea, which had been annexed by the Mitrian empire 100 years previously. A queen ruled there, but she was a queen in name only, fully subject to the will of the Mitrian governors that were sent there as delegates. The farms to the west ended close to Maria, an ancient wall that stretched from far north, all the way south, ending at the river Elda. Maria was named after a minor goddess in the Mitrian pantheon, fittingly a goddess of walls, sanctuaries and refugees. She protected the weary, a shield maiden of humanity. The wall was not tall; in fact, it was crumbling in many places, and it was known that people dwelled on the other side, but they rarely let the Mitrians spot them, and the Mitrians themselves, even the ones who lived near the wall’s edge avoided them. The people on the other side of the wall were strange and small in stature. They didn’t speak and were said to worship strange gods and listen to voices in the trees at night. Mitrians called them “demon-worshippers.” Erwin wasn’t sure how anyone could know for sure what they worshipped and whether or not they were “demons” if they were too afraid to go beyond the wall and interact with them, but he himself came from a place with different gods from Mitras- his people had once been called “demon-worshippers” too…

“As you well know, commander Erwin,” continued the emperor, “Our gods promised our founder, Rodus son of Zekus, king of the gods, everlasting empire-a kingdom without end. The war god, Zekus grants us the power to pursue this glory. And now Zekus has spoken his word again.”

The priest lifted his hood, revealing bloodshot eyes that did not blink: “Zekus has spoken:

_Seek now your empire,_

_for the name of Mitras to echo immortal,_

_empire without end as promised,_

_empire without end pursued,_

_westward cast your eye._

The priest placed his hood up once more and retreated back into the shadows.

Erwin scowled. He knew all too well Mitras’ ideals of conquest, their endless pursuit of glory that they claimed was their birthright, handed to them by the war god Zekus, somehow justifying it. There were indeed other gods in Mitras, but Zekus was the most highly revered. The gods of Erwin’s own homeland were starting to fade from his memory, despite his mother’s efforts to make him remember every single one of their names, and light prayers for them whenever there was a fire, or whenever it rained, and there were other occasions too that he had inevitable forgotten. Erwin’s mother was old now, one of the last few alive who still remembered the worship of Trosa’s gods, which was forbidden under Mitrian rule. She had begged Erwin to remember, but nearly fifteen years serving in the Mitrian military was almost enough to drive them from his mind forever. Mitras’ gods were louder, and stronger. They were gods of empire that made lavish promises to their citizens in exchange for sacrifice and adoration. Trosa to the north had been Erwin’s childhood home, and it had fallen victim to one of these divine promises. His remaining family had been granted Mitrian citizenship when Erwin had joined the military at the tender age of fourteen. Erwin’s father had been killed alongside of Trosa’s last brave resistors, who fought to keep their independence and protect their gods. But Mitras was greedy- it’s emperors feasted on conquest, and so the north was devoured.

Erwin roughly shook himself from his silent and resentful thoughts, still convinced that the perceptive priest was somehow reading his mind from beneath his shield of robes. His mother’s survival depended on his consistent loyalty to the empire, and this meant that Erwin had to give his undivided devotion to the empire, even as his heart clenched and his legs stiffened where he knelt on the cold, stone floor.

“What do you wish me to do sire?” asked Erwin coldly, his words vibrating in the air around him for far too long.

“Go west, as the prophecy says. Explore the territory beyond the wall and lay the grounds for our noble empire to grow.” The emperor’s command rang in the air, expanding the tension in Erwin’s ears.

“I see,” replied Erwin, trying desperately to hide the distaste in his voice. _Loyalty,_ he reminded himself. His mother’s sad grey eyes flashed once in his head, which was enough to propel the next words from his mouth. “It will be done sire. I will gather a squad, and we will begin planning the logistics as soon as possible.”

“Plan the mission as you see fit, I will expect proof when you return,” said the emperor. “You may go now.” He still didn’t meet Erwin’s eyes as the soldier rose stiffly from the ground.

“Your majesty,” he bowed and walked stoically from the room, a new heaviness in his step.

When Erwin exited the throne-room, a new urgency weighed down his steps, propelling him down the cold, marble hallways, towards the outside where the late-afternoon sun was waiting, and where the lingering echoes of the palace would be smoothed over by gull songs and the polyphony of the city’s many voices.

The order, _“lay the ground for conquest”_ still bounced in an uncomfortable cacophony in his mind. His mother’s eyes flashed for a moment again, grey with tears, but they faded quickly and were replaced by his father’s icy blue eyes, stabbing into every corner of his vision with piercing determination. A shiver twitching uncomfortable down his spine, Erwin hurried uneasily outside.


	2. Chapter 2: Heretical Scholars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erwin begins to gather his squad. His first stop is at the university, to visit an old friend, but there may be more to Erwin's mission than meets the eye. He shares his suspicions, and more is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter for you!  
> *As always, I do not own Attack on Titan or any of its characters, this work was composed not for profit. (This is my fantasy world pls don't steal it- I've changed my own original place names etc. to be more compliant with AOT) 
> 
> Hange is coming in this chapter, and you might also see some more familiar faces! 
> 
> lol can you tell I studied classics in college? Lots of Greek/Roman parallels in here if you can spot them!

**Chapter 2: Erwin**

Almost immediately after he had exited the reverberating stone hallways of the palace, Erwin made his way toward his first squad candidate. He crossed the crowded marketplace, gaze focused on a domed building on the far side. Beggars stared at him from their shadowy corners, empty eyes and unkempt hair almost drawing Erwin’s steady gaze sideways. But his face remained stoic and steadfast as he plodded forward, ignoring the scents of incense that wafted from the temples, mingling with the aroma of baking bread, salt spray from the sea, and the mustiness of the city’s dirty streets. Priests chanted in the late afternoon cacophony, alongside fishermen calling to each other, hermits perched on their crates by the wall, preaching strange wisdoms that most people ignored; an unlikely alliance of sounds that created the city’s constant music.

Erwin made it to the steps of the domed building. A few students rushed by, their arms filled with scrolls and minds focused on destinations that did not concern Erwin, so they mostly ignored him. He went inside, past shelves upon shelves of scrolls, desks full of scribes feverishly scribbling. He went through an archway at the back of the library and entered a hall lined with curved stone benches, upon which sat about eighty students, all with their eyes and ears tuned attentively to a figure in the middle of the room speaking passionately.

“…And we know that some stars appear to be closer than others, because they shine more brightly. Zekus’ priests would have us believing that these are Zekus’ captured prisoners, residing in the sky forever to remind us of his power, but what if, for a second, we considered other possibilities? What if there are world out there, that believe in different gods, or perhaps in no gods at all? What if different worlds and different places can see different stars from different vantage points?” They picked up some orbs with constellation diagrams drawn on them from a table next to them and drabbled on about some mathematical equations while the onlookers furrowed their brows and tried to follow.

They wore crooked glasses balanced on their angular face, under which bright brown eyes glinted almost manically, intense focus glowing. Their shaggy brown hair was tied back haphazardly, which clashed with the professionality of the long, white tunic that they wore, and the heavy green piece of fabric that was draped over one shoulder and then secured again around their waist, marking them as a scholar. Despite their chaotic appearance though, they delivered the lecture as an actor would deliver a particularly emotional soliloquy, the passion in their voice nearly as important as the content they bestowed.

Erwin leaned against the door and listened to the lecture, though he couldn’t begin to understand half of what they talked about. When the students finally began to shuffle out, whispering in mingled awe and confusion, the speaker started to gather their various orbs and scrolls on the table. Erwin sauntered over to them, attempting to weave through the crowd of anxious students exiting the hall.

“Erwin!” they exclaimed excitedly as he approached. “I didn’t realize you had an interest in astronomy?”

He chuckled. “I would, except your equations have me a bit rattled. Besides, the emperor is so tightly constrained by the priests, I doubt he would be very happy to learn that one of his soldiers had been listening to the drabbles of a heretical scholar.”

“Well, this heretical scholar is happy to see you anyway! What brings you here if not to listen to me impart my controversial knowledge on all these vulnerable young minds?”

“There is much to discuss Hange, would you be willing to come with me and talk over a jug of wine?”

Hange gazed upward quizzically. “Yes, I am done here for the day, a drink sounds nice!”

Hange deposited their orbs and scrolls with a scribe who promised to lock them away securely, and they exited back through the library and outside into the early evening sun.

They wandered purposefully through the crowded streets, making their way into an unimposing looking tavern. When they were finally sitting down in the candlelit darkness, two cups of strong Mitrian wine between them, Hange spoke.

“So Erwin, what was so secretive that you couldn’t say it to me at the University?”

Erwin swallowed his wine and exhaled a sigh. “I have been given a mission, one that I would like your help with.”

“Oh?” They raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said that the military wouldn’t want to associate with heretical scholars like me?”

Erwin took a quick glance around the dimly lit room. The bar man was busy chatting with some old men who looked like they were at least a few jugs into their reveling. More people were drinking near the front, and someone had started singing a ballad about Rodus and Almae, the legendary founder of Mitras and his lover who was a sea goddess. Give them a few drinks and they would all be singing along. _Good, that means we’re unlikely to be overheard._

“Hange,” began Erwin gingerly, after taking another sip of his wine. “I’ve been ordered to go west; to explore and…”

“To conquer,” Hange finished for him, frowning slightly. After an uncomfortable pause, they added, “and how do expect me, a heretical scholar, to help you on your mission for the glory of our oh so holy empire of Mitras, may Zekus bless us forever!” They aggressively took another sip of their wine, draining the cup.

“That’s not-“ Erwin stammered, “Well the thing is, I need your help Hange. You know that my mother’s survival depends on my loyalty. I need someone on this mission who is skilled at languages, we’ll need to translate…”

Hange scowled. They had grown up in one of the western provinces, close to the wall; their father had been a provincial governor. They spoke the local dialect, could read Ackrian runes, and could speak Shiganese, and Reissan alongside the more commonly spoken Mitrian tongue. It was theorized that Ackrian was the ancestor to most of the languages that were now spoken across the Mitrian empire, and also suspected that it had originally emerged west of the wall, hundreds of years before Mitrian dominance had asserted its linguistic hegemony.

“Erwin, you know that I cannot condone conquest. My loyalty is to science, the pursuit of knowledge, to the university…” they were whispering, but their voice was tense with resentment.

“Hange, I know,” continued Erwin, “and that’s why I wouldn’t ask you unless-“

“Unless what Erwin?” They snapped.

Erwin paused and also drained his cup. “You might want another drink before you hear what else I have to say.”

Hange glowered, but Erwin knew they had too curious a disposition to leave now. He had caught their interest, so they would stay until it was satisfied, whether for better or for worse. They hurried back to the bar with their empty cups and returned a moment later.

Erwin’s gaze rested on a small boy with hunched shoulders and dusty straw-colored hair sweeping the floor. He looked familiar for some reason, but Erwin couldn’t pinpoint why. He was probably too far away from their table to hear them over the din of the tavern anyway, Erwin reassured himself. The men in the front had indeed started singing-they had reached the verse where Almae retreats back to the sea, leaving Rodus heartbroken and angry-and the drunken ballad was just as loud as Erwin had predicted it would be.

Hange reappeared and slammed their drinks down on the table.

“This better be good,” they huffed.

“There’s something you should know,” began Erwin. “I heard some acolytes talking the other day, near the barracks, talking about the university. They were spewing the usual nonsense, about how Zekus was going to punish the scholars who had abandoned proper worship of the gods…”

“This is nothing new Erwin,” remarked Hange, “The priests and scholars have never seen eye-to-eye; why should I be worried now just based on some musings you heard in passing?”

“Because Hange, I think they might be more than just musings this time.”

“How so?” They inquired.

Erwin continued, “The emperor falls more and more under the priests’ control. More acolytes are joining in colossal numbers, and I have even heard mutterings amongst the soldiers, that the scholars are spreading lies about the gods, that we will soon suffer divine wrath…” Erwin stopped and sighed, “Hange, their influence is growing, and it scares me.”

Hange just looked at him, as if daring him to continue.

Erwin accepted their challenge, and kept speaking, “If you come with me now, you will be basically proving your loyalty to the empire. They’ll have no reason to persecute you, which-” he added quickly as they opened their mouth to protest, “I believe they will attempt to do very soon.” Erwin swallowed nervously and took another sip of wine. “I believe that they suspect I am sympathetic to the scholars-they know of our friendship already- and they know my background, as a Trosian. My gods are not Mitras’ gods, so they are watching me closely. They are anxious for signs of rebellion, and the priests of Zekus are the stalwart against this possibility.”

Erwin lowered his voice to a whisper, “Hange, if you come with me now, you’ll be far away from the city, they won’t be able to touch you.”

They took a long time before answering him. “Erwin, if what you suspect is true, then it is for this very reason I cannot do as you ask. How could I run away and abandon my colleagues and my students? My duty is to my research, and I am prepared to give my life defending it.”

Erwin looked down at his half empty wine cup. He had suspected they would say something like this. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider? I-I care about you Hange, I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”

They smiled wanly. “I know Erwin, but I’ve made my choice, and you know very well that my mind won’t change once it’s made up.”

Erwin nodded in resignation, but then narrowed his eyes in concern. He realized he hadn’t heard the rhythmic brush of the broom in the corner for quite some time now. However, when he craned his neck to look beyond Hange’s shoulder, he noticed the boy was still there.

He noticed Erwin looking and his eyebrows rose in alarm, betraying his perturb, and very un-discreetly he began to scurry backwards as if to flee. Erwin however, reacted quickly, and grabbed the boy by the writs, dragging him over to the table as he whimpered in pain.

“Were you listening to us boy?” he shouted harshly, his eyebrows bristling like a cat cornered. “Eavesdropping is rude, did no one ever tell you that?”

The boy cowered and squeaked, his blue eyes wide with fright. “P-please sir,” he stuttered, “I meant no harm!”

“How much did you hear?” growled Erwin, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders.

“N-nothing sir,” he whimpered, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly, betraying the lie in his voice.

“Wait, Erwin, I know him!” Hange stood and placed a hand on Erwin’s white knuckles where he gripped the boy by his quivering shoulders. Erwin reluctantly released them. The boy stood there before Erwin and Hange, shaking, his feet frozen to the tavern floor. Erwin furrowed his brow, certain again that he recognized the boy from somewhere. He realized it the second Hange spoke.

“You’re a scribe at the university, aren’t you?” inquired Hange.

He nodded, eyes fixed to the floor. Erwin realized then, that he was the one who had taken Hange’s lecture supplies earlier; that was why he looked familiar!

“What were you doing here?” They continued, deliberately lowering their voice to a more gentle tone.

“I-I work here sometimes Master Hange. My grandfather died recently and I-I have no parents either, so I work here in exchange for food sometimes, and the barkeep lets me sleep in the storeroom.” He paused and his feet shifted anxiously, “but I want to be a scholar, and so I still scribe in the university as often as I can, but I can’t afford to study full time so…”

“So you enrolled as a scribe, and you probably listen to lectures when you have time to sneak in too…” pondered Hange.

“Y-yes master,” mumbled the boy, shame weighing down his every word.

Hange’s face softened sympathetically, “what is your name?”

“Armin,” he answered quietly.

“Ah yes, I remember now,” Hange nodded, “well Armin, I have an offer for you. Seeing as you’re a scribe, you must have a decent understanding of Ackrian runes?”

“Y-yes Master Hange. I can translate old Shiganese and Reissan as well.”

Hange smirked and looked at Erwin with a gleam in their eye that he knew all too well as the sign of an idea forming in their mind.

Erwin narrowed his eyes uneasily.

“Well Armin, how would you like to go west with Commander Erwin here?”

Erwin could not hide the alarm in his voice as he protested, “Hange! He’s just a child! I can’t take him on a military expedition!”

“How old are you Armin?” asked Hange.

“Sixteen, master Hange,” he replied, raising his eyes respectfully, but still unable to hid eth fear that lingered there.

Hange crossed their arms and nodded in approval, “see, he’s plenty old enough! You need someone who’s skilled in languages, don’t you? I’ve seen his work, he’s a decent translator, probably more talented than I was at that age!”

Armin shuffled his feet in embarrassment.

“Besides,” Hange continued, “he overheard our entire conversation. We can’t exactly risk leaving him here to spill all our secrets!”

Erwin grunted. He knew they were right. He didn’t like the idea of taking a child (he was still young, whatever Hange might say) on a potentially very dangerous mission. He would also rather have Hange’s translation skills than some amateur scribe.

“Erwin, I’m not coming with you,” Hange, as usual seemed like they could read his mind. “I have to protect my work here. I can’t abandon the university.” They placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Erwin nodded, knowing they were right, and there was no chance now that he would win against them in an argument.

“Very well,” Erwin conjectured. “Armin, welcome to the Mitrian exploration squad!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Reissian"= derived from the Reiss fanmily. "Shiganese"= derived from Shiganshina, "Ackrian"= derived from Ackerman. "Trosa"= derived from Trost, "Marlos"=deroved from Marley. (there's probably more that I forgot about), in case anyone was curious about etymology! 
> 
> I based Hange's presentation in this chapter partly on Hypatia of Alexandria (if anyone has seen the movie "Agora" you'll understand what I mean). I'm a bit sad that Hange isn't going on the mission but this is how things worked out. I will definitely do some chapters in the future from their pov, because there is a lot going on! For now, you have Armin and Erwin! (I love their relationship, even though it isn't explored much in the series, I want to develop it here). There will be more familiar faces soon, just bear with me! 
> 
> As usual, let me know what you think, the next chapter will be out soon! (I promise Levi will come soon too, don't worry I haven't forgotten about him, just have to get the exposition out of the way first)


	3. Memories in Ash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Armin's POV. We will get to see Erwin show some vulnerability, see some insight into both of their pasts, and learn more about what life in Mitras is like for non-Mitrians. (It will get a little sad and depressing at one point so you have been warned...)

Erwin and Hange told the barkeep that Armin was wanted by the military. The man sighed apathetically, his droopy gray eyes half glancing towards Armin in pity. Armin could feel his gaze on them shift slowly away as they left the bar. Armin wouldn’t miss it, but he felt the tremble of uncertainty stirring in his bones, almost making the dusty tavern floor seem welcoming in contrast to the dark streets that he followed Master Hange and their soldier friend down.

They passed outside the university, a route that was familiar enough to Armin. He scurried quickly every night from the towering library of scrolls into the dim, compact space of the bar. Hange went their own way, exchanging a few whispered words with Erwin that Armin could not overhear in the nighttime din of the city. Then, looking back apprehensively, Erwin turned south, keeping his eyes turned closely on Armin shuffling behind him.

The streets were chilly with the dimming of window lights and the echoing clamor of drunken tavern-goers.

The boy with the straw-colored hair trailed behind the soldier through these streets, towards a part of town that most Mitrians avoided. It was where the conquered lived.

“Where are we going sir?” piped Armin nervously, his shaky legs scuttling in contrast to Erwin’s cool, even stride.

“You’re coming home with me. I can’t very well let you go off on your own, not after what you overheard.” He paused and looked back at the boy. “I promise it’ll be much better than sleeping in a tavern’s storeroom.” Every word he spoke was guarded, carefully placed on the air with caution and reservation, but despite this, Armin though he detected a hint of warmth in the soldier’s voice.

Armin nodded gingerly and shifted his eyes to the dirty cobblestones beneath him.

He followed Erwin in silence through dark streets that only became darker the farther away from the center of town they journeyed. Heaviness hung in the air, and it wasn’t just from the smoke that filtered from hearths burning in poorly ventilated houses, nor from the stifling walls that pressed against each other too closely, the streets becoming narrower the further they went. NO, the heaviness also came from an unspoken underlying despair that shone in each dark window, whispered in every empty alley, and watched unseen behind every door. Eventually, they came to a plain wooden door that Armin would not have noticed in the dark if he hadn’t jolted to a stop behind Erwin. He pushed it open gently and it creaked a rickety complaint as he did so.

Armin tentatively followed him inside. It was very small. There was a table on one end of the room and a door at the back that led into another room. A dying hearth cast dim shadows around the sparse quarters, the smoke mingling with dust ghosts in the dark corner. _What is a military officer doing living in a small house like this… and in this part of the city?_ It was very clean despite the dust and the ash, tidy and empty except for a figure who sat huddled in front of the fire. Armin almost didn’t spot them at first, but once his eyes adjusted to the light, he was able to see that it was an old woman, a basket of wool lying untouched at her feet, head bowed to her chest in sleep, and a spindle hung neglected from her still hand on her lap.

“Ma,” whispered Erwin, gently placing his hands on her shoulder.

She stirred blearily and opened cloudy grey eyes to look upon the soldier who stood above her, a picture of gentilesse despite the blue cloak that symbolized conquest across the empire, and the sheathed sword that still jangled by his side.

“M-Martin?” She croaked in a hoarse whisper.

“No Ma, it’s me, Erwin, your son.”

“Where’s Martin? Where’s your father?” Her eyes darted about, glistening in the dim, ash spotted light in front of her.

Erwin sighed and cast his eyes down to the floor. “Ma, father died, fifteen years ago, remember?”

She hung her head and dropped her spindle into the idle wool basket. “Oh, I remember now…” her eyes shifted sideways slightly and her gaze rested on Armin, who still stood awkwardly poised just inside the doorway. “Who is this Erwin?”

“This is Armin. He’s going to be staying with us tonight.”

She nodded and looked at the dying embers. Her eyes began to droop.

“Its late Ma, you should be in bed.” Erwin turned to Armin as he helped the elderly woman out of the chair and guided her to another doorway at the end of the room.

“You can sit down, I’ll be back in a minute,” Erwin said to Armin as he went.

Armin walked over to the fire and sat cross-legged in front of the embers for awhile, imagining they made the shapes of the people he saw in his dreams.

Erwin returned a moment later, sighing as he sat down in the chair by the fire. “Are you sure you’re ok sitting on the floor?”

Armin shrugged. He was used to sitting on floors, so much so that it felt more natural to him now than sitting above the ground.

They sat there in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before Armin broke the tension with a question, “Sir, if you’re a military officer as you say, then why-”

“The why am I living in the ‘undesirable’ part of the city as they like to call it?” Erwin finished.

“Y-yes,” returned Armin, unsure how to respond.

Erwin sighed. “I am a Trosian. My kind can serve Mitras, but we can never _be_ Mitrian. As a Mitrian soldier, that means I come here at the end of a day pretending that I am one of them, a daily reminder that I must stay in my place, a reminder of my responsibilities…” he half glanced toward the room where his elderly mother lay sleeping.

“What happened to her?” whispered Armin, following Erwin’s cold eyes that had dimmed slightly in the firelight, suddenly tired with lines that did not dare show themselves before.

“She lost too much,” he said very quietly. “She holds onto her gods still, but they are forbidden in this land, and so they fled long ago. The few of us who are left will soon forget their names too, and they have undoubtedly forgotten us...” he trailed off and shivered slightly. “We should get some sleep. I need to begin preparations tomorrow, and you need to be trained.”

Armin gulped, not sure if he wanted to know exactly what this “training” would entail. Erwin’s eyes had become icy and masked once again, his brief moment of vulnerability replaced by a reminder to Armin that he was essentially a prisoner in an officer’s house.

Erwin wanted to let Armin sleep in his bed, but Armin protested. Erwin returned his defiance with a stare so heavy it could have broken ice.

Armin tried to sleep in the bed that was too big for him, filled with unfamiliar smells, a wool blanket feeling stifling on top of him. Erwin had fallen asleep in a chair on the other side of the room, his chiseled face relaxed only slightly, somehow intimidating even in sleep. Careful not to wake him, Armin slipped quietly from the bed and tiptoed out into the main room.

Relieved from the dusky, lingering warmth that the hearth provided, and the respite from the image of the stony faced guardian asleep in the chair, he curled up on the ground , letting his eyes close with the images of the people he saw in his dreams taking shape again in the dying embers.

_“There’s a big world out there Armin,” said Grandfather, the wrinkles around his eyes creasing as he remembered some long-ago adventure. “Your parents tried to find it…”_

_“Did they find it Grandfather?” squeaked Armin, his blue eyes lighting up dreamily._

_The old man smiled sadly. “Maybe, I’d like to think so…”_

_“Can I find it someday too grandpa?”_

_“We all will someday,” Grandfather took his straw hat off and put it on the boy’s head. “Careful Armin or the sun will catch you!”_

_“But won’t the sun catch you as well?” he said, alarmed as the hat feel under his eyes._

_“The sun caught me long ago Armin,” sighed Grandfather, “But you can still keep yourself safe for me eh?”_

_Too young to understand the mingled fear and love in the old man’s voice, Armin nodded eagerly, raising his head to balance the hat more securely._

_The old man with the twinkling gray-eyes and the blue-eyed boy with a too-big straw hat atop messy straw hair sat beneath that summer sun, listening to the gull songs as they flew overhead, and dreaming of the big world that lay beyond the dusty city._

Armin woke from the dream still imagining he could hear sea-birds singing in his grandfather’s voice. The embers were almost completely dead now. A glassy tear dropped into the ash from blue eyes that held onto memories of the sea from that dream. Armin drifted into an uneasy sleep then, tired of dreaming, and remembering a time when he was too young to hear the sorrow in Grandfather’s voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally supposed to be longer but I am struggling to write it all right now, I have grad school interviews and work to deal with so for now this is all I was able to do.  
> Also I know I said this was supposed to be a hurt/comfort Eruri fic, (and it will be eventually), but I need to get all the exposition out of the way before I can actually introduce Levi.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading guys! Let me know what you think, and hopefully the next chapter will be out soon!  
> (There will hopefully be more characters than just Levi and Erwin but I'm not sure when they will show up yet)  
> A special thank you also to my best friend (I'm not naming her here to respect her privacy), for being my beta reader! <3


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